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She came on strong for a young teacher from a podunk town outside of Austin, Texas. Something about her smile, her joy, her enthusiasm. When she looked right into my eyes on our first coffee date and said, “You know that fantasy about two girls?”
She confessed to being a lesbian during our online conversations and one phone call. The phone call was crazy sexy. We basically agreed to fuck our way through Brené Brown’s books together. She never really got with the “braving” program. For some people, it’s too much to keep their emotional bullshit to themselves. They simply can’t do it.
Here’s an example.
A day into the consummation of our relationship in Lockhart, Texas, things are hot, exhausted, and ready for another go. She casually shows me the straps under her mattress. Um, what?
She had ideas. She had experiences. She wanted me to participate in any way I felt comfortable. Nope. The less we talk about S&M, the better. It’s not going to happen.
I let it drop.
A month or so later, she really wants me to see her Fetlife profile? What’s Fetlife, you ask? Essentially, Facebook for Fetishes. Amateur porn postings attempting to lure customers to OnlyFans pages and maybe more, if we’re in the same city on a given weekend.
She really wanted me to see her creativity. She’s written some stuff. Deep stuff. Dark stuff. Like poetry.
Um, poetry of the penis and buttplug. Nothing to romantic about fantasy stuff. Fetish stuff is thrilling only because it’s so repulsive. No. No. No.
I didn’t really want to see her Fetlife profile, but one night, she was determined.
“What is the point?” I asked. “What part of showing me is so important to you?”
“It’s like my creativity.”
“I’m not dipping into the lifestyle with you,” I said.
And with that, she got dark and pouty. Oh fuck. “Sure, I’ll take a look.”
The very first thing that came up when she loaded her profile on Fetlife was a photo of her in a rubber mask with a cock in her mouth and a tiny drop of blood on her eyebrow. I guess there was some fantasy being constructed. No. Out. Nope.
“Why did I ever need to see that!?”
“That was the one thing I thought I should take out.”
“Yes, there was no need for me to ever see that. Ever.”
Needless to say, the Fetlife evening closed with anger, shame, and frustration. And to say I’ve never been back would be a lie. Curious, they call it.
She was much more than curious. She was coming from a drawn out abusive relationship with a man who left his Harley in her garage in Lockhart.
“What, he just leaves a 10,000 motorcycle in your garage, what… Hoping you’ll reconsider? What?”
Another ghost arrived as she was forced to move quickly to Austin, and get a new school teacher job. She had miscalculated her tenure in Lockhart. She didn’t get the new gig. She didn’t put much planning into it, and then it was an emergency. That’s how she ended up at my condo, a landing pad before her apartment make-ready was done. And the Fetlife tour. I think we made love to lesbian porn. I was out of sorts around the abusive fantasies. Something I didn’t want to look at.
I go back now to look at it. She’s no longer there. She’s transitioned into a normie. Seriously. From fire-red curls and a seductive smile, she has become the small Texas town elementary teacher with the macho Mustang-driving man who’s gonna make her look normal, or at least try. If you didn’t know her, you’d never know.
I’m happy to let her secret lie. I don’t think I ever need to try mattress straps. There are a few things, however…
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